


Survivor's Guilt

by Kibu



Series: Mahariel [2]
Category: Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Angst, Canonical Character Death, Closure, Comfort, Dalish Origin, Drama, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-17
Updated: 2015-06-17
Packaged: 2018-04-04 19:25:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,007
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4149897
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kibu/pseuds/Kibu
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After the darkspawn attack on their camp, Kieris Mahariel has to say his final goodbye to an old friend.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Minor spoilers if you haven't gotten near the end of the game with a Dalish origin Warden.

Darkspawn in their own camp. It came as no surprise to Alistair that the others in the ragtag group had difficulty getting back to sleep after the commotion had died down. He had volunteered to take watch for that very reason; sleep was not going to come easily, what with trying to come down off the adrenaline rush of fighting and also with the dream-vision of the archdemon still fresh in his memory. He was worried about Kieris, as well. Alistair’s fellow Grey Warden had come face to face with an old friend among the darkspawn; an old friend who had clung to his sanity just long enough to beg Kieris to kill him.

The image was not one that Alistair was going to forget quickly. Kieris had fought out of necessity, instinct and skills drilled-in for self-preservation the driving forces that sunk the blade of his dagger through his Blighted best friend’s heart. The way Kieris’s eyes had widened in alarm, the wordless howl that broke into a sob as his legs gave out and he crumpled like a broken doll, cradling the twisted body of the ghoul against him. Nobody had wanted to intrude on his grief. It had been Alistair who had tried to approach him; Kieris had listened to him for leagues after Ostagar, talking about Duncan whenever the subject wasn’t too painful. Alistair had thought, perhaps wrongly, that Kieris could use a sympathetic ear.

Alistair’s advance had been rebuffed. The words had come out stilted, a scattering of Dalish mixed in with the common tongue, but it had been enough for Alistair to know that his presence was not welcome. That much was clear enough just from Kieris’s tone. Alistair left him be, but kept an eye on the other Warden until Kieris had pulled himself to his feet and stumbled like a sleepwalker to his tent.

Alistair understood that Kieris was hurting. He had endured his own grief after Ostagar, so he could not blame Kieris for immediately lashing out when Alistair had tried to comfort him. That didn’t mean that Alistair wasn’t still worried.

Movement in the shadows near Kieris’s tent made Alistair tense, his hand going to the hilt of his sword. Rather than any sort of threat, it was only Kieris himself leaving the tent and heading for the edge of camp. Concerned, Alistair left the fire to catch up to him.

“Where are you going at this hour?” Alistair asked, trying to keep his tone as light as possible. “A sane person would be getting some sleep.”

Kieris looked up at him, the moonlight clearly showing his eyes rimmed red from crying. His expression dared Alistair to make a comment. Wisely, Alistair did not rise to the challenge. He understood that pain far too well to say anything intentionally teasing. Alistair hesitated, but kept his mouth shut on the majority of what he wanted to say and only nodded. “Don’t go too far,” he said.

Kieris said nothing, nodding his acknowledgement and continuing out of their camp, his leather boots making almost no sound at all. Alistair watched Kieris’s retreating back until he was fully out of sight. He sighed, rubbing a hand over his eyes before going to one of the other tents to wake its occupant. If Alistair wasn’t the right person for his friend to talk to, maybe there was someone else who could get closer to him instead.

“Alistair? To what, pray tell, do I owe the pleasure of you coming to my tent?” Zevran was awake instantly. It was so abrupt, in fact, that Alistair suspected that the elf hadn’t been asleep to begin with. Given that Zevran had appeared at the door of the tent already fully dressed, the likelihood of that was high.

“It’s Kieris,” Alistair said, glancing in the direction where he had last seen Kieris. “I’m afraid he’s taking tonight’s events, well, rather hard. He doesn’t want to talk to me, but given your relationship, I thought that maybe…”

“Maybe he will let me close to him, or will even perhaps talk about what is hurting him so that it’s not bottled up in his heart where it may explode at any moment?” Zevran supplied. “A novel idea. One I have not been considering myself at all.”

Alistair frowned, but Zevran stopped him from saying anything else by pressing the tips of his fingers against Alistair’s lips. “I am being sarcastic, of course. I thank you for acknowledging the… companionship that has blossomed between myself and our dear Grey Warden.” Zevran smiled and pulled his hand back. “I will return with our friend. I promise.”

“Thanks. See that you do,” Alistair said, rubbing the back of his hand over his mouth and pointing down the path Kieris had taken. “He was going that way.”

“I know. I heard him.” Zevran nodded and left the same way, his movements quicker and with stronger purpose than Kieris’s had been.

Alistair returned to his post by the fire, hoping that he had done the right thing.

***

Kieris had listened to Alistair. He had not gone very far from the camp; just far enough to get away from the firelight and find a place that felt solitary. He knew that Alistair understood what it was like to grieve, that the comforting words he had tried to offer were from the heart instead of empty platitudes, but that knowledge did little to ease the ache in Kieris’s heart. Even at his lowest point, when Duncan had taken him away from his clan to join the Grey Wardens, Kieris had never felt so alone.

He pressed his back against the strong trunk of an old tree, its gnarled roots curling around its base like a natural nest that guarded Kieris from the rest of the world. He looked up sharply when he heard undisguised, even deliberately loud, footsteps approaching his position. They were far too light to be Alistair, which likely meant—

“So this is your hiding place, my Grey Warden? It is delightfully secluded and away from prying eyes.” Zevran climbed onto one of the thick, trunk-like roots and crouched there, looking down at Kieris like a predatory bird. “I know, I know; you claim that you do not wish to talk and now I am being the nuisance that disturbs you. For that I am sorry. You do, however, have friends who are concerned for your well-being.”

Kieris pulled his knees up to his chest and rested his forearms on them. He took a breath to speak, but hesitated and let the air out in a sigh. Finding the words was a struggle, but Zevran waited patiently for him to find them. “I know,” he finally said. “I appreciate the sympathy, but…” he trailed off, words failing him again. He made an inarticulate noise of frustration, scrubbing both hands through his hair.

“But this was a dear friend of yours, and even the most well-intentioned sympathies can do nothing but remind you of the aching feeling that now resides in your chest,” Zevran supplied, hopping down from his perch to land lightly in front of Kieris, where he knelt to bring himself to the same level. At Kieris’s look of surprise, Zevran chuckled softly and reached out to comb his fingers through some of the tangles Kieris had created for himself.

“You could say that I am intimately familiar with death, yes?” Zevran asked. “I am no stranger to the aftereffects as well. To feel the way you do is perfectly valid, and to not want to talk about it is also valid. Though of course, if you do decide that you’d like someone to talk to, I am a very good listener.”

“Thanks,” Kieris said, grasping Zevran’s hand and giving it a squeeze. “It’s not that I don’t want to talk. I just…” He shrugged, holding his other hand up helplessly. “I don’t know what to say. We were friends since childhood and there was a point in my life when I thought I was completely in love with him. Thinking about it now, I don’t think it was love, necessarily,” he corrected with a frown. “But I didn’t know there was a difference between love and infatuation at the time.”

Zevran moved to sit beside Kieris, wrapping his arm around Kieris’s shoulder and pulling gently so that Kieris was leaning on him. “How do you figure?” he asked, rubbing Kieris’s shoulder through the thin fabric of his shirt.

“We were always very close, and as we got older we became…” Kieris hesitated, searching out the right words. “Physically intimate. It was never a situation where I thought we’d be together forever or anything – though apparently my guardian had hoped it was like that. I mean, I thought Tamlen and I would always be friends, but…” he trailed off again, grunting in frustration. “I don’t know how to explain it. I loved him. Even if I wasn’t ‘in love’, I still loved him. And then I failed him.”

“You failed him?” Zevran repeated, his confusion obvious. “I fear you may have lost me, my Kieris. Where have you failed?”

“I couldn’t protect him when we found that mirror,” Kieris said, looking down at his hands. “I let Duncan take me instead of helping my clan keep looking for him. And then, just tonight… he died by my hand, Zev. I killed Tamlen.”

“You killed him, yes. Does that mean that you failed him? Truly, it may be more correct to say that you were the only one who could save him. You freed him.” Zevran half-shrugged. “It was what he asked you to do - to put an end to his suffering. To have not done that for him would have been cruel.”

“Maybe you’re right,” Kieris said, his words punctuated by a sniff as tears slowly dripped down his cheeks. “But that doesn’t make it hurt any less. When we went and got the Ashes for the Arl, I saw him then. He told me that he was gone, and I accepted that. This shouldn’t hurt as much as it does!”

“You really are an interesting person, my Kieris. Even after everything you have seen, the horrors you have experienced, you still have enough compassion to cry over the fallen.” Zevran kissed the top of Kieris’s head, but did not try to stop his tears or shush him. “There are those who consider having a heart like yours as a weakness, but as someone who has directly benefitted from your kindness I am more inclined to disagree with them.”

Kieris hiccupped, slowly making the shoulder of Zevran’s shirt soaking wet. “I thought I had already accepted his death and moved past it,” he said, his voice cracking.

“Mourn for him,” Zevran said, stroking Kieris’s hair. “Grieve for all of those who have fallen to this Blight. But do not let it cripple you. Let it fuel your desire to eliminate these demons so they cannot cause anyone else any more pain.” Zevran brushed Kieris’s hair back from his face and hooked the dark strands behind his ear. “And if you are having difficulty, well, that is why you have all of us to help you, no?”

Kieris lurched to his knees before swinging a leg over Zevran in order to straddle his lap. He cupped Zevran’s face in both hands and kissed him, sweet as he always was but tainted by the salt of tears. Zevran let him have his moment, waiting to speak until Kieris had pulled back to wipe his eyes.

“As much as I enjoy the way you feel on me, _mi amor_ , I think this may be a somewhat inappropriate time,” Zevran said as gently as he could. At Kieris’s sudden frown, his eyebrows knitting together, Zevran was quick to clarify. “The way you are feeling at this moment is a very powerful thing. While it would be very easy to distract you from it for a little while, there is always a chance that such a powerful feeling of sadness could become attached to activities that would otherwise be quite pleasurable. And if that were to happen, it would be a terrible shame, don’t you agree?”

“I…” Kieris looked away, face flaming red with shame. It would be such an easy way to forget about everything for a little while, losing himself in Zevran and thinking of nothing beyond the physical pleasures of the moment. He rested his head on Zevran’s shoulder and sighed. “I know. You’re right, of course. I just wish there was a way to turn my thoughts off for a while.”

“Sleeping?” Zevran suggested. “You would be amazed at how much better you feel once you have slept and your mind has had a chance to work everything out on its own.”

“Maybe,” Kieris said as he slid back into his spot beside Zevran. “I’m willing to give it a try, anyway.”

“Then let’s get you back to camp,” Zevran said. He got to his feet, helping Kieris up with him. The two of them made their way back to camp, Kieris leaning heavier on Zevran than he had originally intended. Talking about the things that weighed on his mind had put a crack in the dam that had been holding exhaustion at bay. Actually telling himself that sleep was not only necessary, but desirable, had caused that dam to crumble completely.

As they came back to camp, Kieris didn’t see the look of concern that Alistair shot his way or the slight shake of Zevran’s head to warn Alistair off asking questions. Zevran helped Kieris into the tent, where Kieris had barely settled down on his bedroll before his eyes were closed and his breathing slowed into the even pace of sleep. Rather than try to wake him, Zevran pulled off Kieris’s boots and draped a blanket over him so that he wouldn’t wake up chilled.

Upon leaving the tent, Zevran found Alistair waiting for him outside. “Well?” Alistair asked. “It looks like you were able find him, at least.”

“Nothing escapes your keen eyes, Alistair,” Zevran said lightly, linking his arm through Alistair’s and steering him back to the fire. “Let him sleep. He surely needs the rest.”

“You’re being uncharacteristically considerate,” Alistair said with a frown. “Anyway, I’m glad you were able to get him to come back. Did you talk to him?”

“I could have simply struck him in the head and dragged him back, I suppose, but yes, I did talk to him instead. But it should be quite apparent even without convincing him to share his innermost thoughts that he is rather upset.” Zevran glanced over at the broken, twisted corpse that had once been Tamlen. Nobody had moved it; whether out of respect for Kieris’s grief or because they didn’t want to touch the Blight, it ultimately didn’t matter.

Alistair followed Zevran’s lead, looking over at the body as well. “I was thinking,” he began, pausing for an expected snide remark that didn’t come. “That maybe we should… you know. Do something about that.”

“Do you think that would be wise?” Zevran asked. “Neither of us knows much about the Dalish gods and their rituals, and I hardly think that and Andrastian funeral would be appreciated.”

“Actually, I do know a bit about the Dalish traditions.” At Zevran’s completely disbelieving expression, Alistair continued. “It was something that came up after Ostagar. I was mourning Duncan and the conversation topics weren’t exactly cheerful. Kieris told me some of the things they do to honor their dead - I think I remember well enough to do a passable job.”

“That actually may not be a bad idea,” Zevran said, a smirk curling his lips. “Perhaps I misjudged you previously.”


	2. Chapter 2

The sun was high in the sky when Kieris finally woke. He felt hazy and unfocused, the rays of light that pierced through gaps in the canvas walls doing nothing for the fog that enfolded his mind. He climbed out of bed and reached for his clothes, but was even more confused when he realized he was already fully dressed. His boots were waiting for him at the entrance of the tent, set neatly side-by-side rather than his usual standard of leaving them wherever they fell upon removal. His thoughts moved sluggishly as he pulled the boots on. It had to be Zevran’s doing, of course.

Through the fog, memories began to surface. Kieris remembered talking to Zevran in the woods and being harsher than he had meant to be with Alistair before that. And before that, he remembered, had been the sickeningly easy way the blade of his dagger penetrated Tamlen’s chest, the choking gasp that had been Tamlen’s final breath, the acrid sting of bile in the back of his throat that had only been held in check because he was too busy sobbing to acknowledge the nausea.

Now that the queasiness had been remembered, it returned with a vengeance. Kieris fled the tent, barely making it into the underbrush that surrounded the camp’s perimeter before his stomach rebelled outright. The worst of it was over with blessedly quickly, but while he was still at the mercy of his body’s heaving he felt gentle hands pull his hair back and secure it out of his face.

“Here,” Wynne said, waiting until the retching had subsided before handing Kieris a ceramic mug. “Water,” she told him. “It should at least help to get the taste out of your mouth.”

“Thank you,” Kieris said, accepting it gratefully. His throat was raw and angry, but the water helped soothe it more than he would have expected. “Why did nobody wake me? We were supposed to break camp at sunup.”

“It was decided that it would be a good idea to allow ourselves a day to rest rather than setting back out on the road immediately. After what happened, I don’t think anyone slept well enough to be quite alert today.” Wynne took the empty mug when Kieris was finished, offering him a hand to help him up. “It was Alistair’s decision, ultimately. He wanted to talk to you when you woke up, if you’re willing to speak with him.”

Kieris accepted the help, but leaned as little of his weight as possible on Wynne. She was far tougher than she looked, but he still worried about putting too much strain on her. “I owe him an apology,” Kieris said, fighting down an anxious wave of guilt that swelled dangerously within him.

“He’s worried about you.” Wynne patted his shoulder reassuringly. “We all are.”

“I’ll be all right,” Kieris said, though the words rang hollow even to his own ears. “We’ve all lost something to this Blight. We have to put a stop to it, one way or another.” He pulled the tie out of his hair and shook his head, the strands brushing against his shoulders as they resettled. He held the strip of leather out to Wynne. “Thank you. For this, and also for worrying about me. It’s…”

Wynne took the tie back from him, raising her eyebrows questioningly but giving Kieris the time to sort out his thoughts.

“It’s kind of like having a family again,” Kieris finally said, shrugging awkwardly.

Wynne smiled, pulling him into a quick, gentle hug. “Of course. Now, why don’t you go speak with Alistair?” She gave Kieris a little nudge toward camp, waiting for him to start walking before heading back herself.

Kieris found Alistair sitting outside his tent, scrubbing away the small deposits of rust that flecked his armor. As Kieris approached, Alistair looked up and the corner of his mouth twitched up in a smile.

“Good to see you up,” Alistair said, setting the cloth aside and getting to his feet. “How are you feeling?”

“We should be on the road right now,” Kieris said, restlessly shifting his weight from foot to foot. “We’re still a long way from the Brecilian Forest, and I’d like to put as much distance between us and Orzammar as I possibly can.” Kieris and Alistair both shuddered. There was an unspoken agreement that what had happened down in the Deep Roads was something that neither of them wanted to discuss. Ever.

“I agree, but we all needed a little extra rest, and there were some things that needed to be attended to. Come with me for a moment,” Alistair said, beckoning for Kieris to follow him.

Warily curious, Kieris followed Alistair beyond the border of the camp. The area was beautiful and peaceful, sunlight through the leaves of the old-growth trees dappling everything beneath the canopy. They had only gone a short distance before Alistair stopped and turned to Kieris.

“We might have gotten a few things wrong, but it… it seemed like the right thing to do,” Alistair said, a faint, awkward blush rising into his cheeks. “I hope you don’t mind that we took the liberty.”

“What are you—“ Kieris began, but Alistair stepped aside so that Kieris could see past him.

A tiny sapling stood alone in a plot of freshly-turned earth. Kieris walked past Alistair as if in a trance, kneeling at the edge of the mound and reaching out to touch the skinny trunk of the re-planted tree. “How?” he asked without looking up.

“You told me about your traditions. The Dalish ones, I mean. After Ostagar, with Duncan, I asked you…” Alistair sighed, ruffling his hand through his hair. “An oak staff and a cedar branch, and then a tree planted over the grave. Or am I remembering everything completely wrong?”

“No,” Kieris said, rubbing his eyes with the back of his hand. “It’s perfect. Thank you, Alistair.”

“Zevran helped too,” Alistair said. “But he thought you might want some time alone. Er - do you?”

“Just to say goodbye,” Kieris said, “if you don’t mind.”

“Of course.”

Kieris listened to Alistair’s retreating footsteps and took a moment to recite a silent prayer to Falon’Din until he was certain Alistair was gone. He sat back on his heels and took a deep breath, letting the air back out slowly and letting it calm him despite the tears the tracked their way unchecked down his cheeks.

“I’m sorry, Tamlen,” Kieris finally said, his voice quiet but steady. “I feel like I’ve been trying to let you go ever since the day Duncan took me away. Everyone said you were gone and we would never see you again, and that made sense to me. I knew it had to be true. But I still couldn’t stop hoping that maybe, somehow, you were still out there just like I was.” He wiped at his eyes again, though the attempt seemed in vain. “And then, in the ruins… before we found the Ashes of Andraste, I know I say you there. You told me to let go. And I thought that I had.”

Kieris unhooked the chain of the pendant that hung around his neck, the polished surface warm from where it had rested over his heart. In it he could see his own reflection - and sometimes, uncannily, he swore he could see a familiar smile on a familiar face in the mirror-like metal. He scooped some of the dirt away from the base of the sapling and placed the necklace in the hole, then covered it over and patted the soil back down.

“I’m ready to let go, Tamlen. For real this time. I-I’ll see you again someday. I’m sure of it.” Kieris rose up on the balls of his feet, resting for a moment in a crouched position. He kissed the tips of his fingers and then pressed them lightly to the bark of the tree. “But I promise that it will be as far in the future as I am able to make it. I’m in no rush to join you just yet.”

Kieris got to his feet and took a step back. “Until then, _lethallin_ ,” he said, dusting off the knees of his pants and turning back toward camp.


End file.
